Fist of Remnant
by moomin warrior
Summary: An Imperial Fist, one of The Emperor's proud sons, finds himself far from the Imperium of Man and in the world of Remnant. Alongside Team RWBY and many others, this son of Rogal Dorn must help defend their world from the creatures of Grimm. Rated M for extended sequences of strong graphic violence and some language.
1. Chapter 1- Holding the Line

Chapter 1- Holding the Line

**Author's Note:**

**Hello, Fanfiction readers! This is my first ever Warhammer 40k and RWBY crossover ever posted on Fanfiction. After reading other Warhammer and RWBY crossovers on Fanfiction, I have been inspired to write one of my own. This is also the first fanfiction I have written for quite a while, as I have been out of the loop for some years. Finally, I have gotten back into it and I'm ready to start with this crossover. Here's the first chapter in my new fanfiction, "Fist of Remnant." **

**Warhammer 40k belongs to Games Workshop and Black Library. RWBY belongs to Rooster Teeth. I own nothing!**

**Enjoy!**

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Chapter 1- Holding the Line

"_For The Emperor!"_

These are the words that escape my lips as I raise my blood-stained chainsword to the smog-choked heavens. The cry is echoed from the throats and vox grills of my fellow battle-brothers.

The only thing close enough to match this in pitch is the endless gunfire and carnage playing out before us. My squad holds fast, as well as the other squads of our company. Alongside us, several regiments of Imperial Guardsmen stand with us, lasguns and grenade launchers trained at the enemy. A vast crater is all that separates our forces from the endless hordes of mutants that advance towards us. It is a great, jagged, black scar that stretches across this battle-torn city. Fat clouds of thick, greasy smoke billow from gaping holes in ruined hab-blocks. We stand upon our barricades of rockcrete, steadfast and unbroken, as we destroy all those on this world who would defile it with their inhuman presence.

I am Kraeton, Sergeant and leader of Tactical Squad Kraeton of the Imperial Fists 5th Company. My brothers and I are one of many at the forefront of this battle. We, along with the other squads of the valiant 5th Company, are the bulwark against which this army of deformed wretches bleeds itself upon this day. The machine spirits of our bolters roar as we fire into the enemy ranks, blowing thousands of mutants into bloody chunks.

Upon our battlements, we stubbornly hold our positions, raining death upon the foe with aid from dozens of Imperial guns. The trenches beneath us overflow with the broken bodies of fallen mutants and Guardsmen alike, a vast sea of bleeding and charred corpses. The metallic tang of blood can be smelled, even from a distance. For a whole week, the proud battle-brothers of the 5th Company have assisted the Imperial Guard regiments stationed on the hive-world of Thebus Prime in repelling this inhuman rabble. For a whole week, we of the Imperial Fists, the stoic and noble sons of Rogal Dorn, have brought death to these misshapen dregs. For a whole week, we have held the line, not faltering for a single minute.

My chainsword screeches to life once again as I carve a lumbering mutant in half from its chest to its lower torso with an upwards slash. It's bulging arms feebly grabs at my power armour, only to fall in two halves of shredded meat. Another one leaps at me with unnatural speed, only to be decapitated by a downwards slash of my weapon. Smoke hisses from the circular barrel of my bolt pistol as I send another bolt round into the bulging throat of a disfigured mutant. The fiend's swollen head explodes, as well as most of its chest, and the dead miscreant crumples into the sea of bodies. Next to me, my battle-brothers take aim and fire, reducing yet another wave of mutants into nothing but smoldering gore that splatters upon the battlements. On my left, brother Norek takes down mutant after mutant with each shot, blowing up the wretched filth before they can climb up into our barricades.

On my right, brother Garvez stands his ground as more degenerate fiends come before him, only to be swiftly cut down by quick blows from his chainsword. His bolter is out of ammunition at the moment, and he slays every mutant that dares to approach our position before reloading his weapon. Two rush towards him headlong in undisciplined strides, and he quickly splits them both in half with each swing of his chain weapon. While he reloads his bolter, Garvez reaches out and stops a hairy mutant that rushes towards him. My battle-brother grabs the abomination by the throat, and the mutant struggles helplessly in Garvez's gauntlet.

With a sickening crack, Garvez breaks the filth's shaggy neck like a rotten twig and tosses the corpse into an incoming mutant before finally slamming a fresh magazine into his bolter. He stands firm like all of us, not letting a single one of these bastards get past him. My chainsword and his chainsword sing in perfect unison as we carve up every mutated wretch that comes forth. Our battle-brothers Borias and Koren give us supporting fire, sending more bolt rounds into the chests and skulls of incoming mutants.

"No Mercy!" I shout, as I plunge my chainsword down into the hairy chest of a stocky mutant. It screams in pure, raw agony as the whirring teeth chew through its diseased skin. I pull my blade upwards, cutting through the mutant's humpbacked shoulder, and I proceed to behead the abomination. Blood sprays from the ragged stump of its shredded neck, and I kick the headless body over the barricade. Join the rest of your fallen brethren, filth. It is no more than you deserve.

A lanky mutant with a rusty butcher's blade leaps towards me like a rabid beast, only to meet the growling teeth of my chainsword in its repulsive face. It barely has a moment to shriek in surprise. Leathery, malnourished skin and green blood spray in all directions, while it's muscles twitch and spasm as my chainsword finally saws through its neck. I swat the mangled body aside and reduce a fat mutant's head into nothing but a shower of black and red gore with one shot from my bolt pistol. It falls and rolls to the ground in a crumpled heap, proceeding to be trampled into battered meat and pulp by its brethren as they try to scale our barricades.

Let them try. They face the Angels of Death. They face the sons of Dorn.

Nearby, the Devastator squad under Sergeant Teron opens fire. The rounds from their heavy bolters tear through the mongrel army, cutting down hordes of mutants. Empty shell casings fly from their heavy bolters and rattle on chipped rockcrete as my battle-brothers mow down rank after rank of the loathsome degenerates, making the endless fire from the Imperial Guardsman's machine guns seem inferior. The heads and arms and legs of countless mutants explode in showers of crimson gore and shattered bone, raining all over the vast ditch. Streams of tainted blood jet from their gaping wounds.

Alongside us, hundreds of Guardsmen fire their lasguns and rifles into the enemy, piercing scores of unprotected mutated flesh. Brave men and women stand firm, their faith and courage bolstered by the mere presence of Rogal Dorn's proud sons. They add to our firepower, making a deadly combination of explosive bolt rounds and hot, searing pain. Their supporting fire gives our squads the chance to reload our bolters, and a chance to unleash their loathing of the foe with scores of las-blasts. Squads of hulking, muscle-bound Ogryn bellow as they fire their Ripper guns into incoming mutants, tearing open bulging stomachs that burst with ropes of bleeding innards. Heavy Weapons Squads obliterate entire mobs and gangs of the foul deviants with heavy bolters and lascannons, providing extra support to the other Guardsmen squads. Other teams rain down high-explosive shells farther into the enemy positions with Mortars, blowing many to bloody pieces and keeping many more of them pinned down.

Yet the mutant hordes do not relent. They scream, howl, roar, bray, shriek, and bellow as they charge onward without care or heed of their own safety. They are hideous beyond comprehension, deformed from a lifetime of suffering, radiation, and corruption. A vast horde of disgusting outcasts and hated renegades gathered from the deepest cesspits of Humanity. The vast majority of these degenerates are misshapen cretins that look more monster than human. Several of them are hunchbacked and crooked like ancient old men. Others are hulking and massive like Ogryns, while others are lanky, short, or terribly obese. Many wear clothing made from worn rags or stolen uniforms, while many go into the fight utterly naked, exposing their various mutations and deformities. Many have several pulsating eyes on different parts of their bodies, while others have various protrusions, like gore-stained horns, pus-filled cysts, and bleeding humps. Several of these wretches have extra limbs with animalistic hands and claws that drip with the blood of slain Guardsmen. Many more have been twisted by the ruinous powers, turned into gibbering and howling abominations. They wield various weapons like whips made from chains, rusty carving knives, clubs with iron spikes, flintlock pistols, stubbers, krak missiles, and weapons stolen from different Imperial regiments.

It is enough to fill any pure-hearted servant of The Emperor with disgust and righteous hatred.

"Right flank!" I shout out to my battle-brothers. "Cut these bastards down, like the revolting deviations they are! For Rogal Dorn!" Our squad turns right, where another vast wave of mutants charges recklessly towards us in a undisciplined stampede. Many struggle to run over the sea of bodies, or simply grind the corpses of the fallen into pulp under hundreds of misshapen feet. We take aim once they are in bolter range, and fire into the wave of monstrosities. "Bring them down, brothers!" I shout this as I pull the trigger of my bolt pistol, giving several incoming mutants a taste of Imperial Fist hatred focused through discipline. My battle-brothers do the same as we fire into their ranks, and hundreds upon hundreds of the bastards are slain in mere seconds. Those that are hit die screaming in great showers of red meat and tainted flesh. Bolter fire blows up among the mutants, blasting off limbs and ripping bodies open. Our Devastator squads inflict the most damage, firing inscribed bolts and blasts of hot plasma into the larger masses of the enemy. One huger mutant is instantly vaporized by a round of plasma, leaving nothing but a burnt skeleton and sizzling body fat.

I swing my chainsword outwards once again, cutting two mutants apart in one clean stroke. Their blood splashes all over the gore-soaked barricades and my yellow power armour. Our weapons are lethality incarnate, bolter and chainsword alike. Beneath our barricades, the bodies of our foes pile higher and higher with every death. The mutants try to use one of these bleeding mounds of bloody limbs and torn carcasses as a rampart to scale us. They charge upwards, only to be destroyed from more bolter-fire and the slashes of our chainblades and power-weapons. My weapon tears more enemies of Mankind apart as they approach, the motorised teeth biting deep into their malformed bodies. With each stroke, I saw through muscle, sinew, and bone. Green horns are reduced into fragments of chipped bone, and pulsating eyes burst as I plunge my growling weapon into their skulls. More enemies charge, and they lose arms and legs as Garvez cuts them apart with his chainsword. One mutant reaches up with a spotted hand, trying to climb up the barricade. I bring down my ceramite boot, turning the abomination's hand into a miniature eruption of wet gore before tearing it's skull open with a bolt-round.

Yet the oncoming mutant hordes do not give in so easily. They fire their stolen guns into the ranks of the Imperial Guard, and many soldiers at the front are killed, while other humans fall back clutching at flowing bullet. Other mutants shower nearby Guardsmen with Expander rounds that shred their bodies open on impact, and these human soldiers perish with massive exit wounds that burst with gore and innards. Other human guardsmen hurtle frag grenades that explode amongst the mutants, yet it does little to slow the wretches. Mutants hurtle their own stolen grenades into the Imperial defenses, which explode and take the life of any Guardsmen in their range. Others fire hijacked missiles that blow several humans apart into red gore that showers their comrades.

Among the ranks of the vile miscreants, an enormous reptilian brute fires wildly into the Imperial Guard ranks, wielding two large heavy stubbers in each of his gnarled hands. Several brave men and women are killed in an instant as they try to go over the safety of our fortifications and take the fight to our enemy. The giant abomination continues firing into our barricades, tearing open the chests and shoulders of Imperial Guardsmen. A nearby Ogryn in blinded, while the Guardsmen near him have their heads and throats blown apart in a shower of red. A stray bullets hits the grenade of a fallen sergeant, causing it to blow and take every brave human nearby with it. The lizard-like monstrosity howls in delights as he cuts down more and more Guardsmen by the minute, allowing more of his misshapen brethren to advance.

The mutant's killing spree is short-lived. With well-trained precision, I point my bolt pistol at the filth's muscular arm, take aim, and fire a single bolt-round. A single shot is all it takes. The reptilian mutant's entire right arm, as well as his entire shoulder, head, and upper chest erupt gruesomely, splattering the ocean of corpses in green and red blood. The muscular body falls over, yet the left arm still grasps the heavy stubber in it's hand as well as the trigger, no doubt from some remaining muscle spasm. Bullets spray out, causing much havoc among the mutants. Legs, ankles, and feet are blasted apart, making the enemy fire off their own guns into their misshapen allies. Several crash into one another, sowing discord among their ranks. More and more revolting deviants fall dead, all because of a single shot from the bolt pistol of an Imperial Fist.

The bastard's supporting gunfire, however, has allowed many of the slain mutant's kin to advance. Abominations jump into the trenches, while some other mutants slam into barbed wire and howl as sharp razor wire cuts into their hideous skin. Their well-earned pain is short, as other mutants trod over those snared in the barbed wire. Brutal close-quarters combat ensues as Guardsmen fight with tooth and nail to repel the enemies of the Emperor. Mutant heads are cracked open by the butt of las rifles. Guardsmen throats are ripped open by rending, inhuman claws. Bullets split open chests. Stolen blades and army knives clash, sending off sparks. One Ogryn bellows as he swings his Ripper Gun, breaking the heads of several mutant scum and sending other degenerate filth tumbling to the ground in crumpled heaps. Another hulking Ogryn spears a mutant on the bayonet of his Ripper Gun while filling it's belly with bullets as it squirms in agony. Guardsman tackle malformed wretches into the dirt and carve inhuman brains open with chainswords. Mutants snap the necks of brave men and women. One Guardsman, seeing the brutal carnage before him, whimpers and drops his lasgun. The cowardly soldier turns and tries to flee, only to die quickly as a Commissar puts a bullet through the Guardsman's chest. The stern officer points his pistol at anyone else who has a thought of fleeing the field. More Guardsmen fall in behind him, guns aimed at the foe and any amount the ranks of the local Imperial Guard regiment who would try to run. All the other human soldiers, either in fear of the Commissar or spirits raised by his presence, charge back into the fray and blast holes into the mutants that dare try to assault the forces of The Emperor.

My battle-brothers and I open fire once again, ready to destroy the next wave of abominations. The rampart of bodies grows higher and higher with each fallen mutant, slain by either a thrust of the blade, or brought down by a round from a loaded bolter. A mutant taller that any man rushes up towards me, wielding a makeshift club with bloody spikes and rusted nails jutting out. It swings its crude weapon at me, squawking in some bastardized form of Low Gothic. I dodge the blow easily, and I bring my blade downwards. With a great swing, I chop both of the fiends legs off, as if harvesting fresh grain. The legless abomination shrieks as it tumbles down the rampart, it's pitiful wails only silenced as it's brethren crush the wretch underfoot. The mutant leading the renewed charge roars at me and leaps like a deranged animal, spittle flying from the corners of an amphibious mouth. I swing my bolt pistol once it gets close enough, and the filth's barbed head cracks open like an eggshell. The other mutants nearby are torn apart by the blades of my battle-brothers.

The rampart of dead bodies is slippery, and the mutants struggle in their climb to reach us. Many shove and push their brethren aside. They come right towards us, only to erupt in a fresh shower of blood and tattered organs as bolter-fire cuts them to pieces. Their troubled climb makes it easier for us to target them as they struggle and slip on the bodies of their hideous kin. Every one of them that falls adds to the bloody rampart.

All of a sudden, a gigantic brute of a mutant bursts from underneath the rampart, evidently not as dead as it should have been. It is far larger than any Ogryn, with arms like thick young tree trunks, and hands as large as Power Fists. Greasy warts, black boils, bleeding pockmarks, pale blisters, oozing scabs, and red scars dot its massive body, while knives and daggers litter it's greasy hide. The massive hulk shoots out a slab-muscled arm and grabs a nearby Guardsman by the neck in one of it's enormous paws with surprising speed. The frightened human soldier gasps and chokes, struggling in terror as sharp claws tear into the flesh of his throat. With a great bellow, the hulking monstrosity tosses the Guardsman over its hairy shoulder with ease. The shrieking human soldier goes flying and disappears in the seething horde of mutants, who tear him apart in mere seconds.

The gigantic mutant rises up from the rampart, bodies sliding and rolling aside. The brute knocks aside other mutants with a large sledgehammer, roaring as it prepares to assault us. It raises its weapon up high, cruelty and hatred blazing in both of its piggish eyes. Just as the monstrous behemoth lifts its hammer over its swollen shoulders, a shot rings out, and the enormous fiends head erupts in an explosion of bloody meat and wet brain matter. Chunks of its huge arms are blown out as well. The hulking body sways back and forth, thick gore and foul pus spewing from the massive hole where it's head once resided. Then, hammer sliding from it's muscled paws, the gigantic corpse falls backwards and downwards like a fallen tree. Several other mutants are crushed under the brute's swollen muscles, their diseased and twisted bones snapping and breaking under such heavy weight.

The shot was fired from none other than Chaplain Ranor, who's bolter still hisses from its barrel. His armour is as jet black as the darkest night, and only his left shoulder pad is painted in the golden yellow of the Imperial Fists, along with the Chapter's symbol of a clenched fist. Skull devices adorn his armour amongst a welter of wax-sealed purity parchments that detail catechisms of the Chapter, as well as dozens of Chaplain's honours. I myself have similar purity seals attached to my own power-armour, as do my fellow battle-brothers. His skull-mask gleams brightly in whatever sunlight that manages to penetrate the smog of this war-torn planet, sending a wave of fear and awe amongst any nearby Guardsmen. In his right gauntlet, he carries a Crozius Arcanum, his sacred badge of office. The handle itself is almost as long as a fully-grown man, wrapped with parchments and litanies of prayer. His crozius is topped with the gilded wings of the Imperium and a golden fist grasping bolts of lightning. It has been crafted so that every enemy of Mankind that falls beneath this powerful weapon can see the symbol of Rogal Dorn as they die. Chaplain Ranor is the one leading us on this mission, as his purity of spirit makes him the ideal commander to lead our battle-brothers in the face of such a horde of depraved abominations. He is a brother I have always known who can arouse the spirit of any Imperial Fist, and one who can instill the hearts of his fellow battle-brothers with courage and unwavering hatred for the enemies of Mankind. His mere presence is death.

Chaplain Ranor lowers his bolter and walks up to my position. The other members of my squad salute him as he passes them, while the others stand ready to mow down any incoming deviants. His demeanor is the same as mine: grim and undaunting, like a true son of Dorn.

"Chaplain Ranor." I salute our company Chaplain proudly.

"Sergeant Kraeton." He returns the salute as he stands next to me, his old and stern voice amplified through all the vox grills of our squad. It is a voice that my brothers and I have listened to for so many years in our long service to The Emperor of Mankind, and one that always sets my twin hearts beating with zeal and fortitude.

"How do the other squad of our company fare? Any losses?" I ask him.

"Wounds received," Ranor says. "None dead, and all can fight."

I nod before turning forward to blast a mutant into thick red chunks of flesh and blood, still talking to our Chaplain. "Good. We have been lucky these past few days."

Garvez impales an obese mutant on his screeching chainsword. He pushes the bleeding corpse off of his weapon with a boot to the gut, and snaps off a shot with his bolter that tears open the chest cavity of another abomination. "Indeed. None of these malformed scum are worthy enough to provide a real challenge. The Emperor smiles upon us."

"Aye," Ranor nods, "The Guardsmen have done well for their part, adding to our strength."

Brother Norek opens fire, and three mutants wielding stolen chainswords explode simultaneously, their black blood staining our barricades. "They have taken heavy losses, though."

"Fresh Imperial troops reinforcements are already arriving now," I speak, as I slam a fresh magazine of ammunition into my bolt pistol. "The other half of the local Guard regiments are eliminating other pockets of resistance elsewhere in the city, and we must hold this position until they come. These brave Guardsmen have their part to play in this battle, and so do we, my battle-brothers. Will you join us, Chaplain?"

"I have finished instilling zeal and fervor in the rest of our company squads, except for yours, Sergeant." Ranor says through the rictus of his skull-helm. "The honour would be mine."

As he finishes speaking, another large mutant stomps forward, roaring in wild fury as it brandishes a crude pole-arm as long as a man that drips red with human gore and rattling chains. Without flinching, Chaplain Ranor snaps a shot at the deformed wretch, blasting it's lower legs into goblets of splattering gore. The mutant howls as it tumbles flat on its face before us. The stumps of its legs gush with blood and bone marrow, while the abomination struggles to get up. Chaplain Ranor merely walks forward to the bleeding deviant, as well as I. The mutant growls and bellows as it looks up to meet the crimson lens of Ranor's skull-helm. It's bulging nose has burst open after falling on the chipped rockcrete of our barricade, with mucus, cartilage, and pus seeping from broken nostrils.

"You should have remained in your cesspit," Chaplain Ranor says. The mutant glares up at him, roaring a gutteral bellow of pure outrage. Our company Chaplain merely activated his crozius and brings the power weapon down upon the deformed freak, shattering it's entire head. Blood and bone fragments splatter on our power-armour once more.

Chaplain Ranor's crozius blazes and crackles with arcane energy, blood sizzling and evaporating on the weapon's power field. He and I raise our weapons as fresh waves of grotesque mutants shamble and lumber towards us. Ranor dispatches one by lunging at the filth, slicing it in two from shoulder to hip with a swing of his crozius. At the same time his staff of office slays the abomination, I lunge with my roaring chainblade, slashing a mutant's fat throat open. The deviant choked and gurgles as it clasps it's ruined throat, and I kick it aside with utter contempt. The teeth of my weapon howl as another vile mutant leaps at me like an enormous toad. My chainsword flashes in my gauntlets as the bastard's arms go flying off at the elbow. With my bolt pistol, I fire into the mass of incoming mutants, loosing off three shots and reducing them to eruptions of red mist and torn gore.

Behind us, our fellow Imperial Fists take position and let loose another round of bolter-fire upon the encroaching mutant hordes. Brother Horgo unleashes a wave of fire from his flamer, bathing any wounded mutant that tries to climb upwards with promethium fury. Next to us, more Imperial Guardsmen fire their lasguns into the foe, their spirits bolstered by the awesome might of our Chaplain. Las-blasts tear into the screaming miscreants, while Guard Sergeants hack down approaching deformities with their own chainswords. The guns of Tactical Squad Kraeton and the aid from the Guardsmen reaps a heavy toll upon the foe. Scores of mutants die in mere seconds as bolter shells rip through the first misshapen bodies they strike, tearing them apart into thick welters of hot, steaming gore without detonating before finally exploding and reducing their targets to a ruin of twitching gristle. Their dead increase the growing rampart of bodies, and the debased scum are so densely packs as they climb up that we barely have to aim our shots. Along the rest of the Imperial lines, the other squads of the 5th Company hold out well. Devastator Squad Teron cuts down another mob of twisted degenerates in a wave of heavy bolter fire. Assault Squad Theodorov holds their ground as well, raining fire down upon incoming mutants and scything down their foes with revving chainswords.

As our battle-brothers gun down the swathes of miscreants, Chaplain Raynor and I mow down those of the foe that our brothers leave to those amongst us who can handle the scum in close combat. Blood erupts from the thick chest of my next opponent as my chainsword carves open the ugly mutant's rib cage. I draw my weapon out in time as I stamp down on a swollen brute's foot and plunge my screeching blade into the mutant, it's chain teeth grinding through spine and rib cage. Many of them are slab-muscled bruisers who could tear a regular man apart with their bare hands, and they attempt to bring me down with their brute strength alone. They fail, as my boots are firmly planted to the rockrete of this barricade, like a true Imperial Fist. I cut through their hideous mutations, carving out twisted horns, bursting insectoid eyes into globules of stinking paste, decapitating two-headed deviants that squeal like demented swine, and chopping off multiple limbs that squirm like maggots after being torn from their unnatural bodies. I save my bolt rounds for bigger foes, blowing ragged holes into their greasy flesh and twisted skin that spurt wildly with corrupted blood and shattered bone. One of my bolt-round cuts through two mutants at once, before finally detonating in the obese stomach of a greater brute with multiple eyes.

Chaplain Ranor smashes a gnarled mutant aside with another swing of his crozius, and the filth tumbles down the rampart of bodies, causing many enemies to trip and stumble and fall. He swings again, pounding the next corpulent abomination back into its diseased brethren before severing the next abomination in two bloody halves. The sparking force field around the power maul's head flashes as it reacts with opposing kinetic force, amplifying it's already inhuman strikes to insane levels of strength. One mutant is already dead before it can swing it's crude axe, it's skull utterly obliterated in a flash of scarlet gristle, as it flies into two of it's depraved kin. Red, crimson blood splashes all over his black power armor. Raynor's grinning skull-helm gives me and my battle-brothers strength, as it always has in countless past battles. "Abominations!" he bellows out to the foe, "Deviations! Filth! You DARE to invade worlds of The Emperor, spread your cancerous taint to our hive-cities, and murder proud Guardsmen? You will all die this day at the hands of the Imperial Fists! Look upon the Angels of Death and die, wretched worms!"

The discharging of his crozius' power field is like a lighting bolt falling into the countless enemies of Mankind. Chaplain Ranor hacks more of the mutants to bloody pieces with his power mace with it's gilded wings and skull and symbol of our Chapter. It flashes in his gauntlet as if he is battling the unclean with with a shard of pure lightning. All who see it fight proudly under it, as if it is an omen sent from Rogal Dorn himself. Each mutant that lumbers or leaps at Ranor dies as his crozius annihilates their misshapen bodies. He grips his weapon once again, and swings at three monstrous deviants before him. They are hurled back from the mace's crackling power field, all three slain by the impact with their thick-muscled chests cracked open, each tumbling down the rampart to end in limp, lifeless heaps. One hairy mutant shrieks as it pushes it's brethren aside and charges at Ranor with it's iron club raised. Our Chaplain's response is to knock the unlucky filth upwards in a righteous arc. The impact from his sacred weapon is so powerful that the hairy bastard's carcass flies above our heads, leaving a thick arc of oily blood and burnt grease in its wake which rains down upon our barricades like crimson rain.

Ranor and I then take turns snapping shots at incoming monstrosities. We watch each other's back, ducking and bending to let the other one fire a bolt-round into one mutant after the next. We kill and destroy the impure, and our fellow Imperial Fists do the same. More smoke hisses as I slam a fresh magazine into my bolt pistol. As I do so, I take notice of something among our enemy. Despite the various mutations that these abominations have, there is one detail that they all share in common. Upon their malformed bodies are symbols, carved into their wretched flesh with ritual knives and talons, painted with the blood of fallen Guardsmen, or riveted to their warped skin in plates of scrap metal. It is a symbol that my battle-brothers notice as well, and it is a symbol that fills us with disgust and rage: the eight-pointed star of Chaos. The mark of the Ruinous powers.

"Sergeant! Chaplain! LOOK OUT!"

Before Ranor and I are able to turn, a stray missile flies from the launcher of a towering mutant that sails over to our position. It hits our barricades. The missile fails to hit us, but the impact knocks us to our feet. Shards and chunks of rockrete go flying, as well as several Imperial Guardsmen. Before the hulking piece of infested grox-shit can fire again, one of our battle-brothers takes the mutant out with his own missile. The arrogant heretic is blown apart into pieces of burning gristle and stinking gore. The mutant's brethren, however, roar in monstrous glee, and several rush towards our position. Chaplain Ranor recovers his crozius, but his bolt pistol is out of his reach. I grab my own bolt-pistol and fire into the approaching upstarts, daring them to come forth and die.

"Chaplain, catch!" Brother Horgo tosses his flamer, to Ranor, who catches it in his gauntlet. Just as the wave of mutants is upon us, our Chaplain points the nozzle of Horgo's flamer towards the snarling creatures. Without a moment of hesitation, he pulls the trigger.

"_**BURN, HERETICS!"**_

In seconds, a sheet of fire envelops every last one of the approaching mutants, coating them all in hot, flaming death. Gurgling screams and howls fill the air. Thick brown smoke billows up in great clouds. The mutants shriek and wail as the blue-white cone of flame rips through the closest bodies as sure as any bullet, rendering all of the cringing filth before us into shriveling, flailing limbs and charred meat. The fat and grease of their deformed bodies bubble and melt, leaking out into the sea of corpses.

The lens of Chaplain Ranor's skull-helm blaze with wrath and fury as he incinerates the mob of abominations. "Die in the flames of righteous purity and hatred!" These mutants made the error of believing that an Imperial Fist would be so easily cast down and defeated. They have paid dearly for it, as all of these cesspit-dwelling heathens shall pay as well for daring to set foot on this world.

I help Ranor to his feet as our battle-brothers cover us and snap off shots at any incoming mutants. Our Chaplain hands Horgo back his flamer. "Thank you, brother," he says through his grim skull helm. Brother Garvez quickly hands Ranor his bolt pistol. Regaining our position, we all turn towards to the oncoming horde of Chaos-worshiping mutants, bolters raised in defiance.

We need not fire. The air is torn apart by the sound of shells slicing through the smog and gloom from far behind us. Scores of mutants are blown apart by human-sized shells that create vast craters in the gigantic horde. Bodies are ripped apart in deafening explosions as the sea of corpses becomes pock-marked with wet, ragged holes that turn fallen bodies into burning meat, pulp, and gore. The Imperial Guardsmen cheer as Imperial reinforcements arrive. Growling Leman Russ tanks, Baneblades, and Basilisks roll up the road to our position and rain death down upon the unclean heretics.

"It seems as though the other half of the city has been secured," Brother Borias says as he watches a basilisk fire and blow dozens of abominations into oblivion, "and our reinforcements have finally arrived."

"Damn," Brother Koren grumbles as he loads a fresh magazine clip into his bolter. 'Just when I was getting warmed up."

"The battle is not yet over, my brothers," I say as I reload my bolt pistol as well. "While a single enemy of The Emperor still dates to draw breath on this world, there can be no rest."

We turn our attention to the fleeing horde of mutants. The once fearless army of heretical scum flee from the wrath of Imperial artillery as more shells tear through their ranks. Many more run about the sea of corpses in total disarray, leaderless and blind. Several trip over the ruptured bodies of their dead in their desperation to flee. Several of the more daring mutants charge onward, only to be scythed down into meat and gristle by Imperial lasguns and Space Marine bolt-rounds.

"Then let us pursue our foe," Chaplain Ranor says "and crush them in the nest that they dared to crawl out of."

"I couldn't have said it better myself, Chaplain."

Shaking thick chunks of gore and blood from my chainsword, I open the vox channel and speak to all the squads of our company. "Brothers! The enemy has challenged us, but now he flees like a whipped cur instead of standing, fighting, and dying like real warriors! Let us punish these misshapen heretics for their cowardice, and make them fear the day that they dared to set their unsightly feet upon the sacred ground of Thebus Prime! Pursue them in the name of The Emperor and Rogal Dorn!"

Every Imperial Fist shouts in agreement. Knives are drawn from sheathes as Tactical Squad Kraeton leaps down from the Imperial barricades, landing upon broken, bleeding bodies that crack and snap under our impact. The rest of the squads follow behind us, weapons raised as the 5th Company descends onto the field of battle and cuts down or blows apart the minions of Chaos. The Imperial Guard cheers as well and follows. "Forward, brave men and women of Thebus Prime!" The stout Commissar shouts as he points his power sword in the direction of the enemy. "Let us show these bloated grox-fraggers what The Adeptus Astartes and The Hammer of The Emperor can do! CHARGE!"

With a great cry, the Imperial Guardsmen: Men, women, and bellowing Ogryn, charge forth from their trenches and barricades, lasguns at the ready and spirits ablaze. Space Marine and Imperial Guard surge forward and cut down any foe that stands in our way.

The Imperial counterattack has begun.

* * *

"Yes...it is almost time, my children."

The Chaos Sorcerer grinned with sadistic glee from behind his horned helm. In his spiked power gauntlet, he held a long black staff that glowed and smoked with raw energy from the warp. His power armor was purple-red, like the mists and clouds of insanity that churned in the Eye of Terror and the nightmare oceans of the Warp itself. He could feel all of the power coursing through his superhuman body, ready to be used at his command. He paid little heed to the dozens of cultists, witches, mutants, sorcerers, and magicians that chanted endlessly around him. Still, he admired their devotion to his cause.

His had long forgotten his own name, having lost all knowledge of it from his countless centuries of roaming the Eye of Terror. That meant little to him, however. His only goal in his long existence was to serve the Gods of Chaos he had pledged to worship and appease, to carry out their divine will. Even in his power armor, the sorcerer could feel long strings and coils of ruinous energy snaking in and out of his soul and through the walls of his mind. The ceramite of his armor was twisted beyond mortal comprehension, with almost every imaginable mutation one could become afflicted with while dwelling in the Eye. Curved horns jutted from his spiked pauldrons, while quivering eyes blinked on the warped fleshmetal of his dark ceramite, and the lenses of his daemonic helm flared in blue malevolence like daemonic crystals from a world devoted to the Pleasure Prince. From his long arcane staff, ghosts, or what looked like ghosts, poured out from the top and slowly descended onto the dry earth of Thebus Prime like a black fog made of tortured nightmares. The sorcerer was tempted from time to time to look upon the work of his countless underlings, but the ordeal he was orchestrating required all of his senses.

The Chaos sorcerer, and all of his most psychic mutants, witches, magicians, stood standing in a great ring of stone obelisks carved in words written in devotion the Dark Gods. Merely trying to read even a single letter of the burning words would have destroyed a lesser mind thrice over. Torrents of flame burst from eye sockets and mouths as devotional prayers were uttered. Every one of them gibbered prophecies even as their lungs and hearts and bones burned to the very core of their being. Several had gone mad already, gouging their eyes out or ripping out their own entrails. Many were chained to the obelisks against their will, their life energies being slowly sucked out of their withering bodies. In the middle of the circle, untold madness was being born.

The sorcerer smiled at what was his most ambitious achievement. Before him, a great sphere of pure blackness was slowly growing larger and larger with each passing second. Cracks of violent lightning swirled within its murky depths, palpable for every living creature within reach to feel it's corrupting touch. Screaming daemonic faces appeared, disappeared, and reappeared, trying to burst out like writhing maggots from a festering corpse. Blood and gore and more goblets of tainted flesh swirled within the sphere of Warp Energy, melting and regrowing into searing orbs that burned like the forges of Khorne. It was Chaos. Pure Chaos, or it would be soon enough. The sorcerer's fleshmetal mask peeled into a long fanged grin, revealing rows upon rows of twisted barbed teeth and bleeding gums, while a reptilian forked tongue slithered from one corner of his mouth and across this tattooed lips. This would be a warp gate from which daemons would be able to pour into reality. He was the conduit, and every living servant of Chaos here was fuel for it. He had gathered many of the deformed mutants from several worlds of the Thebus system, and their numbers were more than enough to aid in his plans. Each had sworn an oath to the Dark Gods, pledging their very souls to each the Ruinous Powers in order to take revenge on the Imperium which had kept them down and hunted them for as long as they could remember. While he did think of them as lesser beings, he still admired their devotion to the Gods of Chaos. Their devotion and loyalty to his cause was all he needed.

The sorcerer closed his eyes and continued to channel his energy into the growing daemonic sphere that would become a warp gate. Every life lost among the mutants who had pledged their lives to the cause added to his seething power. He could hear their thoughts, their pain, their memories, and their cries of torment passing through the warped meat of his mind. It was a good pain.

"My lord! My lord!"

A cultist wrapped in bloody robes, followed by two more cultists and three shambling mutants, rushed up to the Chaos sorcerer. His horned helm stayed fixed on the growing maelstrom, but he regarded his servants. "Why do you intrude?" His voice was wet and cracked, like an ancient Terran reptilian creature of old, yet his words were unfailingly calm.

The leading cultist's eyes were wide with fear, and his lungs were sore from running. The runes daubed in his pale skin bled from fresh ritual scars. "My lord, the Imperial scum have fresh reinforcements! Our forces are pulling back to our base, but the loyalist, scum will be upon us soon-!"

"Tell our forces to hold back the Imperial lap dogs, just as I ordered them to do." The sorcerer snapped, making the cultists and mutants flinch. "Their souls belongs to the Dark Gods now, as do yours. We have more than enough bodies to keep the loyalist filth away from our ritual. Throw all of our faithful into the meat grinder if you must, but they must not interfere. Now go! Slay the roaches of The Corpse Emperor in the name of the Dark Gods, my children!"

The cultists bowed, and they, as well as the mutants, rushed to deliver their master's orders to their fellow children of Chaos. The sorcerer kept focusing on the growing mass of warp energy and smiled.

"Very soon, my children...very soon, and the Dark God's will shall be done…"

* * *

"Die, mutant scum!"

Another swing of my chainsword cleaves three mutants in half: one through half of it's skull, the other through it's swollen belly, and the third from it's legs and arms.

Besides me, my battle-brothers do the same, cutting down scores of mutants or gunning them down. I call upon my brothers and I to slay the enemies of Mankind in the name of The Emperor and Rogal Dorn. The sound of chainblade and power knife hacking through flesh, as well as bolter-fire stitching a pattern of death across mobs of deviants is thick in the air. One of my brother picks a large target and lets loose a handful of shots from his bolter, rendering his foe into chunks of bloody ruin. I tear through unclean deformities, each one more vile than the last. With every swing of my chainsword and shot from my bolt pistol, I bring and end to the suffering of their miserable lives. Short enough that it was. I lay into the foe again and again- gnarled limbs are lopped off, heads are shredded open, torsos are split in twain and fall to the ground in wet splats. Garvez duels with a brute of a mutant wielding a sledge, dodging it's swings and finally plunging his chainsword into its unprotected chest. He cracks open a fat mutant's jaw while filling another fiend's belly with bolt-rounds.

I let loose more shots into a gang of mutants, the kick of my weapon feeling good and heavy in my gauntlet. Streams of autogun fire ricochet of my yellow power armor and leave small scars. I charge into the ones among the foe wielding firearms, breaking their crooked bones with my enhanced strength and pauldrons. I give one creature a bloody uppercut, smashing green fangs and tusks from a sundered jaw. Chaplain Ranor raises his crozius arcanum once more and crushes four mutants at once, their ugly bodies cracking open in fat explosions of rich gore that paints the ground and his black ceramite boots red.

The Imperial Guardsmen fighting alongside us let loose volleys of red and white lasfire into the abominations, burning their tainted flash and aiding us in delivering The Emperor's justice. Other Guardsmen skewer mutants with their bayonets or hurtle grenades that blow up among incoming enemy forces, peppering the monstrosities with shrapnel that tears open their twisted bodies and hideous limbs. One large Ogryn fires his gun into the enemy while carrying an injured Guardsman, as the hulking abhuman is determined to utterly exterminate the ones who would dare to harm his comrades. The commissar himself scythes down mutants far larger that himself or blasting open necks with his pistol, showing no fear as he leads brave men and women into the fight. They follow his example, as their morale has been boosted to its fullest this day.

There are newcomers in the enemies ranks: cultists. Debased worshipers, the lost and the damned. Many wear ragged straps of clothing, like their mutant comrades, while others are clothed in robes daubed in runes dedicated to the Ruinous Powers. They die all the same, as I saw one in half, decapitate the next one, and blow a third into scraps of red meat. My brothers take notice as well, our hatred of the foe rekindled by the mere sight of these bastards. They deserve nothing except the most painful death we can give to them.

Our banner carrier, Steinaf, snaps off bolter rounds, cracking open necks and blasting off limbs. One mutant fires off several rounds into Steinaf's leg, gouging holes into the weak points of his armor and almost making him collapse. The blood of Dorn trickles from the crack is his ceramite armor, yet he dares not drop the 5th Company Banner. Determined not to let our company banner fall, Steinaf yells an oath to Dorn and rushes the defiant abomination. Once he gets close enough, he stabs the bastard in the gut with the sharp end of the banner. The mutant howls and chokes as Steinaf pins the squealing deformity to the blood-red earth and plants his boot on the dead corpse in defiance while the banner of the Imperial Fists 5th Company stands proudly for all of our battle-brothers and allies to see. "None shall stop the Sons of Dorn!" He yells. "_Come and die, you filthy bastards_!"

At last, we have approached what appears to be the enemy base: a ruined cathedral fixed with chunks and slabs of broken stone and rusted metal. Everywhere, along the rows of damaged walls and from inside shattered windows, the blasphemous symbols of The Ruinous Powers are plain to see. Many are painted in old flaking blood, while others are carved into the flayed corpses of Guardsman that hang like macabre flags. Mutants of all shapes and description rush out of man-made holes from below the cathedral walls like foul excrement from a disposal pipe, clashing with Imperial Guardsmen. From top of the enemy walls, mutants and cultists in gun emplacements fire down upon our Imperial Guard allies, shredding humans into pulp and gore. I vox our Assault Squads, telling them that there are foes upon the wall that need to be thrown down and crushed. Soon enough, Imperial Fist Assault squads leap through the smog and crash down on the enemy gun emplacements. Mutants and cultists are crushed under the powerful impact of ceramite boots, while those that are remain are put to the sword as our battle-brothers wade through them and rip the heretics apart.

With the enemy guns disabled, our Assault squads retreat so safer positions for Imperial Guard tanks and basilisks to open fire. The Guardsmen quickly move to cover on our orders, and we cover their backs as mutants try to assault them. Massive shells tear down the enemy walls one by one. Huge slabs of rockcrete and corroded metal come crashing down upon the twisted heretics like massive javelins, as if cast from the sky by The Emperor and Rogal Dorn. Towers spill open with dozens of screaming mutants pouring out as if they were the putrid innards of this desecrated fortress. Huge clouds of dust billow in the wake of falling columns of rubble and dented iron. Those of the heretics that manage to flee the destruction are cut down by our guns and blades. Once the tanks cease their firing, we know that know is the time to cut down the leader of this rabble once and for all.

I point my chainblade in the direction of the exposed inner fortress. "Onward! Slay the foe in The Emperor's name!"

* * *

The Chaos sorcerer felt himself being lifted from his spiked ceramite boots by the energies of the warp gate. It's seductive grasp was consuming him as the final sacrifice to activate the portal that would invite the creatures of the warp to Thebus Prime. His mutants and cultists had done well in sacrificing their lives to activate the warp gate. Already, the writhing mass of daemonic energy had increased ten-fold, gorging itself on their ripped souls, fresh life-blood, and thick gore. Now, all he had to do was-.

His thoughts were interrupted, however, as the massive walls of his fortress came crashing down under heavy artillery shells from behind him. Scraps or red rusted metal exploded into tangled heaps while shards of rock crushed his minions. Some of the massive shards of stone embedded themselves into his various cultists and mutants, pinning them to the earth while huge blocks of rubble smashed handfuls of his underlings left and right. In a matter of minutes, his desecrated fortress was reduced to nothing more than a vast heap of broken rockcrete and twisted iron.

No, this wasn't supposed to happen! He could not fail, not after all his schemes and pacts were finally coming to fruitation! Then to his final horror, he saw the last thing he had ever hoped to witness: The Loyalist forces advancing upon him, making their way through the ruins of his wrecked fortress, obliterating the tattered remains of his army, and several squads of yellow-armoured Space Marines were pointing their bolters at him. Worst of all, he had been so focused on using his energy on the warp gate that he had no way of trying to defend himself.

"No! NO!"

The sorcerer's final words ended as his entire body erupted into chunks of twisted ceramite and mutated gore. His entire world erupted into blood and pain. His spiked gauntlets were blasted open, while his twin hearts and other multiple organs burst into tatters of quivering flesh, and his various mutations were reduced to nothing more than twitching gristle upon the dust and rubble. Once he had died, his promise unfulfilled to his dark gods, the warp gate began to collapse in on itself in utter madness. Thick lashes of daemonic energy whipped out like the arms of a great sea beast, killing and slicing Guardsmen left and right.

* * *

"Move!"

I help my brothers up as the winds grow stronger and more violent thanks to the vortex of the warp that erupts before us. It is a swirling orb of pure insanity, sucking up fallen bodies and enormous slabs of rubble that disappear into the seething blackness. Guardsmen who are too close to the collapsing gate are sucked in, their screams drowned out as the mass of warp energy consumes them in mere seconds. Those of the remaining Imperial troops not driven mad by it's sheer presence flee for their lives, being led by the Commissar to safety. Already, the battle-brothers of our entire company are getting ready to evacuate on one of our thunderhawks. Suddenly, before one of the thunderhawk can land to retrieve us, a bolt of black lightning lashes out from the swirling mass of chaotic energy and pierces it, sending the gunship falling to the ground in a crash of dust and blood. Long tentacles of crackling power lash onto the thunderhawk, slowly pulling it towards the screaming portal.

"Stay away from that thunderhawk!" Chaplain Ranor calls out.

"Brother Berek! Brother Berek is still in there!"

The gunship is as good as done for, but I refuse to abandon one of our own. There is still a chance to save him. I turn towards the damaged thunderhawk before looking back at Garvez."Brother, get the squad back with the rest of our company!"

``Sergeant, wait!"

Wasting no time, I run as fast as my enhanced legs can carry me towards the damaged thunderhawk. Dust and chips of rockcrete crunch under the weight of my ceramite boots, turned to powder. Chaplain Ranor and Garvez follow behind me, but they fail to stop me as I leap into the open door of the thunderhawk.

I rush through the doors, almost falling over as the thunderhawk shakes and groans. Crates of munitions topple to the floor, which I either kick or toss aside with powerful blows. I can hear voices and screams blowing through the gaping holes where the lightning struck, growing louder and louder all around. Mustering all of my willpower, I ignore the creeping sounds as I focus on saving Berek. He will not be taken by the foulness of the Warp this day; not while I have anything to say about it.

Finally, I make it into the cockpit and find Brother Berek still engaged to the pilot's throne. "Hold on, brother!" With all of my strength, I haul Berek from the throne, power feeds snapping from the connection ports in his yellow power armour. He spasms and twitches, half-conscious from his perception being melded with the gunship's machine spirit. With a final yank, I tear my battle brother from the throne and leave the pilot's cockpit as fast as I can, carrying Berek with me. The door to the thunderhawk is still open, and I quickly manage to hand Berek over to Chaplain Ranor. Suddenly, another bolt of daemonic lightning strikes the earth forcing all of my battle-brothers back before the thunderhawk jolts and I tumble backwards into the gunship.

Suddenly, the world turns into a sea of insanity and dark lightning as the thunderhawk is pulled into the collapsing warp gate. The gunship's door is forced shut by a wave of dark energy, followed by a shriek of tortured metal.

* * *

"SERGEANT!"

Norek shouted at the top of his lungs as he tried to throw himself at the damaged thunderhawk, while Garvez struggled to hold him back. Chaplain Ranor held Berek tightly, while Borias, Koren, Steinaf, and every space marine of the Imperial Fists 5th Company could only watch helplessly as the thunderhawk that held their brother was sucked into the daemonic portal. With a crack of thunder, the Warp gate disappeared in a flash of crimson blood and purple smoke, leaving nothing but a smoldering crater of blackened ash.

**And that's the end of Chapter one, as well as the beginning of my newest project: "Fist of Remnant." Does Sergeant Kraeton live? If he does, where will he find himself? I told you that this would be full of action! I'm sorry if the ending was a bit rushed, but I still enjoyed setting up the stage for events to come. I really can't wait to write the next chapter of this fanfiction, and I would love any critique or constructive criticism to help make this an awesome Warhammer 40K/RWBY fanfiction.**

**Feel free to read and review! See you soon!**


	2. Chapter 2- Out of Bed, Into the Woods

Chapter- Out of Bed, Into the Woods

**Hello, fans of Warhammer 40K and RWBY! I thank you all for following my new story, the comments that you've posted, and I also thank those who have given me helpful critique for future writing! **

**I am sooooooooooo sorry for the slow update! It's been busy, with finishing and graduating from college and dealing with Grandfather Nurgle's latest "gift" for humanity (AKA COVID-19), and dealing with writer's block and editing. Yet, like any true servant of the Emperor of Mankind, I endure and keep marching on.**

**Like the first chapter, this next one is going to have some nice action in it, as well as more dialogue (as well as funny stuff) and more spacing for the paragraphs. **

**I am determined to continue writing this fanfiction. This story is also dedicated to an old friend of my mother, who recently passed away, and in memory of Ian Holm, who always portrayed an elderly Bilbo Baggins with such humor and emotion.**

**Warhammer 40,000 belongs to Games workshop and Black Library. RWBY belongs to Rooster Teeth and Monty Oum (Rest in Peace, my good friend).**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 2- Out of Bed, Into the Woods

"_Ruby…"_

_Everything around her is an endless ocean of pink and white mist. She exhales small, peach-flavored clouds, adding to the veil around her. Splashes of crimson red and charcoal black drip out of nowhere and burst into glimmering showers of light that tingle her senses. They appear the moment a thought or string of emotion takes form within a corner of her mind. _

"_Ruby…."_

_There is no end to the glowing field of color, no matter how far she wanders. Her every step sends a spray of multicolored fog blasting into the air, while she feels the ground retract and bounce like Jello. Getting lost is the only true option; lost in this place of utter relaxation. Slowly, the field shifts into an ocean, carrying her along it's waves. One spot in this limitless ocean of light and emotion looks the same as the other, yet as she moves, the color of the fog changes. She runs her hands through the mist, letting splashes of red and pink pass through her fingers like sand on a beach. Her mind is adrift, just as she is adrift in this ocean. Lost at sea, lost in thought. It goes through her hair like shampoo and tickles her scalp. _

"_Ruby…Ruby….." _

_Each splash of color smells delicious beyond compare. The taste of freshly baked cookies fill both of her nostrils slowly. All around her, she can hear curious whispers and voices snaking along in the endless waves of her drowsy mind. One voice, however, grows louder than the others. It belongs to a female and it's motherly voice seems to draw her in. _

_"...by...Ruby…Ruby…."_

_She smiles, giggling as she allows herself to be tickled by the peaceful and relaxing clouds and mist, while the voice calms her into a deeper sleep. All is well in the world. She wants every moment of her life to feel like this. Every feeling of negativity that has ever plagued her mind throughout her whole life instantly disappears as she laughs cheerfully, and she reaches out to-._

**"RUBY!"**

"DAAAAGH!" Ruby Rose, the leader of Team RWBY, woke with a white rush of cold shock as her eyes instantly snapped open. She let out a high-pitched (yet undeniably cute) squeal of surprise, followed by an equally charming grunt of discomfort as she landed face-first on the floor with a thud.

"...Oooowwww…." Ruby groaned as she lifted her face off of the wooden floorboards, shaking her head and making her black choppy hair sway back and forth momentarily. Her eyes blinked slowly as she managed to rub most of the sleep out of her eyes with a wobbling right hand.

As she slowly opened her eyes, Ruby saw who it was that had woken her up from the dream. The fog in her eyes disappeared to reveal another figure standing over her, casting a narrow shadow over the young huntress.

The figure was topped by a fair skinned face framed loosely by flowing, bright golden hair that faded to pale gold tips. Unlike Ruby, who was still in her wrinkled pajamas, the older girl was dressed in black mini-shorts and a tan jacket that exposed much of her cleavage, along with a low-cut yellow crop top that bore a black fire emblem. Wrapped around her neck was a blazing orange infinity scarf. On her long legs she wore over-the-knee socks in the same color as the scarf. One sock trailed up over her left knee while the sock on the right leg was scrunched down below the knee. Her left thigh was tied with a gray bandanna. For shoes, she sported a pair of knee-high brown boots. Friendly lilac eyes met Ruby's eyes, while a toothy grin spread across the older girl's face.

"Good morning, little sis!" Yang Xiao Long said cheerfully.

"Aw, Yang. I was having a wonderful dream!" Ruby grunted in slight annoyance as she looked at her stepsister. As she tried to stand up, her thin legs wobbled, making the young huntress slightly tip over. Yang quickly caught Ruby before she fell to the floor again, and Ruby thanked her blonde step-sibling with a tired nod.

Ruby's legs were still asleep, and the young huntress groaned as she felt the blood going back into her feet. It felt like a horde of ants crawling down the lower veins of her legs, mixed with wet sand that moved slower than glue. Grumbling, Ruby tried wiggling her toes in the hope that it would make any bit of sleepiness in her legs feel better. It didn't, much to her grumbling displeasure.

"Sorry if I woke you up from your dream, sis," Yang said with a soft chuckle as she helped Ruby sit down on her bunk bed. "I know exactly how you feel. Once, I woke up from an awesome dream where I was riding my motorcycle on the back of a humongous Grimm, shooting off my guns at Beowulves and picking up cute boys afterwards."

Ruby lifted her hands and slowly rubbed her temples. "It's okay, Yang. I just wish that it went on a little longer." The leader of Team RWBY gave a long yawn and stretched her thin arms upward, and giggled when Yang took the opportunity to briefly tickle her left arm pit.

As Ruby blinked her eyes again, she took in her surroundings and became familiar with the living-area that was their dorm at Beacon Academy. The members of Team RWBY had taken the opportunity to redecorate their dorm to fit their needs on the second day they arrived, turning what had once been four beds into a pair of makeshift bunk-beds. Second-rate bunk-beds, someone might have commented. One bunk-bed was narrowly balanced on piles of stacked books, while the other was suspended over the other bed from ropes tied to the ceiling. To anyone's mind, these bunk-beds didn't really give the impression of a safe sleeping environment. Then again, the concept of "safety" never really was a part of Ruby's vocabulary. A red curtain was draped over their dorm's window, and Ruby could slighty make out a thin line where she had accidentally cut the fabric with Crescent Rose. Underneath the window was a small bookshelf, where rows of books were either stacked neatly (like the ones balancing the legs on the other bunk-bed), or toppling over one another like dominoes. Boxes packed to the brim with the team's various belongings stood statue-still against the walls of the dorm like miniature cardboard buildings.

Lying on her back reading a book on the opposite lower bunk-bed was another teenager with wavy black hair and fair skin. A black buttoned vest with coattails covered half of a white, sleeveless, high-necked, cropped undershirt the color of pure snow. These were followed by a pair of equally white shorts containing a zipper on each leg. Her black, low-heeled boots rested on the end of the bed frame. A black ribbon the same color as the huntress's hair was tied firmly at the top of her head in a bow. Both of her amber eyes were momentarily glued to the pages of the book she was reading, but she turned her head as she watched Yang help a sleepy Ruby maintain her balance.

At first impression, Blake Belladonna seemed like an ordinary young human huntress attending Beacon Academy. Blake had revealed her true identity as a Faunus to the rest of her team. As well as being a Faunus, Blake had also explained to her friends that she was once a member of the White Fang, an organization made of Faunus terrorists well known throughout Remnant for their attacks on human society. The black bow tied to her hair concealed a pair of cat ears, an example of one of the many characteristics her species displayed. Blake turned her eyes away from her book and gave Ruby a nod before speaking in her normal reserved tone. "I take it that you're finally up?"

'Yeah," Ruby nodded lazily, bobbing her head a little before lowering it as she felt another muscle above her right eye thud and shudder, as if trying to make the young huntress fall asleep again. In truth, Ruby _desperately_ wanted to go back to sleep on the spot. She squinted at a nearby clock on the bookshelf, but the remaining sleepiness in her eyes made the numbers on the clock look like fuzzy smudges and blurs."Did I sleep in again?"

Yang smiled as she tried to keep her step-sibling from toppling back. "You certainly did. Can't say that you didn't need a rest after studying so hard yesterday. That test in Dr. Oobleck's class was _hard_."

"Ugh, don't remind me," Ruby groaned, brushing a hand through her black hair. She and the rest of her team had been studying for an entire week, reading over texts about events in Vale history for their latest test. Ruby had unfortunately forgotten about Dr. Oobleck's test (much to the annoyance of her teammates), and had to cram all the information in 3 days. She had studied all day and into the night, determined to pass. It had been quite a hassle, and Ruby had just barely managed to stuff enough information to help her pass the test. After flipping through book after book, she didn't want to read another thing for an entire day. "I wanna go back to sleeeeeep…." Ruby slowly lowered her head and tried to fall asleep, but Yang propped Ruby back up.

At that moment, the door creaked open, and the others turned their heads to see Weiss Schnee enter the room with a coffee mug in her left hand. The heiress to the Schnee Dust Company was a pale-skinned young woman with long white hair the color of pure winter snow that was pulled back in a ponytail and held in place on the right side of her head. Weiss was dressed in her usual attire: a thigh-length strapless dress ,and a piece of black lace sat on the front of her neckline. The hem of her dress was scalloped and stitched to resemble dozens of snowflakes, and a bell-sleeved bolero was strapped over her outfit, bearing the crest of her family. A scar ran vertically down her left eye and the side of her face, something that caused much curiosity on the day that she first met everyone at Beacon Academy.

The heels of Weiss's boots made soft 'clacks' on the wooden floor as she walked into the team's dorm. She carried a mug that was currently half-full with coffee and noticed that Ruby was sitting up and swaying back and forth sleepily. Weiss rolled her eyes at the leader of her team and placed her free hand on her hip in modest annoyance. "Well, it's about time that you decided to get up," the white-haired heiress said before she took another sip of her coffee. "I was starting to think that you would sleep through the whole day again."

Ruby, equally annoyed, frowned at Weiss while sniffing the coffee aroma in yearning. "Hey, that only happens once in a while….. Well… maybe once or twice every weekend." Rising to her feet, Ruby comically wobbled over to Weiss in an attempt to drink from her teammate's mug. "Neeeeeeed…...coffeeeeeeee….NOOOOOWWWWW….."

Weiss held her mug back as Ruby tried to reach out for it with her hands trembling sleepily. "No! This is _my _coffee!

"Come on," Ruby moaned, "Pleeeaaaase? Just a small siiiip….."

The Schnee heiress finally managed to pry her hands off the mug and set Ruby back down on her bunk-bed. "Do you know how long the line to get a coffee was? You aren't the only one who's exhausted from studying. I am NOT going to wait another hour just because you decided to sleep in."

Ruby grumbled to herself and winced, trying to keep her blinking eyes open before slumping back onto Yang's shoulder with a soft thud. "I just gotta wake up." She rolled her head and looked up at her stepsister. "Yaaaaaaang, shake meee. Helpmewakeup!"

Yang could barely hold back her laughter at what her little stepsister was suggesting. Still, Ruby seemed desperate to find a way to keep herself from falling asleep. "Alright," she chuckled, placing her hands on Ruby's shoulders.

With a playful grin, Yang began to shake Ruby like a maraca. Ruby's entire face turned into a fuzzy blur as Yang shook her by the shoulders back and forth without pause. Blake slowly lowered her book and shifted her attention to the whole commotion, one eyebrow raised. Weiss had a very similar expression as she watched Yang continue to shake Ruby faster and faster.

"_Bwbwrrrhyebrhmmwhgghghyxcksphwhrypughughuughuwhawhoawhoouuhaaa_!"

Finally, after 1 minute had passed, Ruby raised her hands as well as her voice"

"_ALRIGHTALRIGHTWHUADAFFUGH!I'MUPI'MYPI'MUPYANG!STOPSTOPSTOOOOPPP!_"

Yang laughed as she stopped shaking her younger stepsister, letting Ruby regain her senses. Both of Ruby's silver eyes were spiraling swirls as she struggled to get out of bed. "Uuuuuuuhhhhhh….Thanks…."

Ruby stumbled slightly and almost bumped into Weiss, who sighed as she set down her mug and helped Ruby stand up. "Feeling better?" Weiss asked sarcastically. Ruby nodded, and used her thumbs to wipe the last pinches of sleep from her eyelids. The leader of Team RWBY smiled weakly as she leaned against a chair for support and gave a wobbly nod of thanks to Yang, who smiled and tried her best not to laugh at how Ruby's hair looked so ridiculous from all the shaking.

"Why does it look so grey outside?" Ruby said as she hobbled towards the window. "It looks like it might be raining." Ruby yawned as she pressed her cheek against the glass and instantly felt how cold it was, as thick droplets of rain pattered against the window outside.

"It IS raining outside," Blake pointed out, and Ruby saw that it wasn't simply raining; It was pouring outside Beacon Academy. There was so much rain coming down that it made everything in plain sight look like a fuzzy blur under the heavy weather. Great dark clouds of unimaginable size blotted out every inch of the sky, and not a hint of sunlight could be seen anywhere. The muffled crack and boom of lightning could be heard far out in the distance, swallowed up in the wet gloom that didn't seem to end. Ruby could make out some of the blurry shapes obscured by the endless tides of rain, like trees and various buildings at the academy. Still, the water and fog pounding against the window made it difficult for her to see everything else. The window vibrated as shower after shower of rain droplets thundered against the glass.

Yang looked out the window too, her face next to Ruby's, and the breath from their mouths fogged up the glass. The blond huntress whistled as she surveyed the endless downpour going on outside. "Geez, look at all that water coming down," Yang chuckled. "It's practically raining cats and dogs out there." Yang suddenly flinched, realizing what she just said, and turned to Blake with an apologetic smile. "Uhhh, no offense, Blake."

"None taken," Blake shrugged, continuing to read her book.

Ruby finally pulled her face away from the glass and rubbed her cheek, muttering at how cold it felt. Although she was waking up more, Ruby's mind still ached from all of the studying and test-taking from yesterday. In truth, Ruby still felt like going back to sleep would be a better option. "Well, with all that rain, I guess that we're staying in doors today."

"The storm is going to let up soon, or at least that's what the weather forecast predicted," Yang replied as she turned to Ruby with a grin, "And when it does, we're gonna have a fun day!"

"And why is that?" Ruby grunted, trying to lay back down on her bed only to be stopped by her stepsister. Grinning, Yang helped Ruby try to stand up.

"Don't you know what today is, sis?" Yang said, holding up Ruby in excitement.

"Uhhhhhhhhhh…." Ruby scratched her head as she tried to remember what was so important about this day before shaking her head weakly. "Nope. What is today?"

Yang gave Ruby a wider, toothy grin. "It's Mission Day, silly!"

Instantly, Ruby's eyelids opened up in total surprise while the rest of her body snapped to attention. "WHAAAAT?! TODAY IS MISSION DAY?!" She looked at Yang, and stammered in shock. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT TODAY IS MISSION DAY?!"

Ruby immediately squirmed out of Yang's grasp and darted towards the nearest drawer, yanking it open and tearing out fistfulls of clothing while chattering about how she could have possibly forgotten what today was. Yang chuckled as she watched her little stepsister make socks and underwear fly across the room like empty shell casings being spat out from a machine gun. Weiss placed a hand on her forehead, once again being subject to her team leader's tendency to forget important things until one of Ruby's bras landed right in her face.

* * *

"Okayyyy, let's see what's on the board," Ruby said as she and the rest of Team RWBY inspected the list of missions that were being displayed on the screen. The Amphitheater of Beacon Academy was packed with students, and the clamor of a hundred voices almost drowned out Ruby's words. It reminded her of when she first arrived at Beacon Academy, except that she couldn't remember it being this loud. Young hunters and huntresses were talking, laughing, arguing, and gossiping from one end of Beacon Academy to the next. Since no one was allowed to leave the grounds until the heavy rain stopped, it was only natural for young teens and adults to make the wait easier.

Rather than sweaty pajamas, Ruby Rose was dressed in her usual attire: a long-sleeved black dress with a high-collar and a full skirt with a red crinoline that came to rest on her upper thighs.. A hooded red cloak was pinned at the collar and trailed over her shoulders like a crimson bloodstain. It was this same cloak that had earned her the nickname "Little Red." Her black combat boots tapped on the floor of the Amphitheater in rhythm, but the sound was swamped underneath the ocean of voices around her. Ruby's eagerness to go out and hunt Grimm made her tick like a clock, despite not having had a single drop of coffee.

Yang stood next to Ruby, helping her scroll the mission board. Like her step-sister, Yang had a growing air of impatience flowing around her. That, and the endless chatter wasn't making it easier for her to read anything on the glowing screen. Blake had better luck at masking her emotions, and Weiss merely kept her arms folded while trying to find their team's name. There was a change in the way missions were being given today: instead of teams getting to pick out a mission of their choosing, each team was being joined by a second team and were assigned a specific mission. According to some of Yang's friends, Headmaster Ozpin wished to counter the increasing number of Grimm in the area by combining two teams into a temporary unit of 8 students. Of course, the teams would only be able to leave Beacon Academy once the heavy rain was over.

"Let's see...which team are we partnered with?" Ruby's eyes darted back and forth, up and down the screen. There were so many teams listed on the screen, and skimming through them all was beginning to strain her eyes. How she wished that she had coffee this morning.

"Aha!" Yang pointed a finger towards the left edge of the screen. Ruby, Weiss, and Blake looked to where Yang was pointing, and sure enough, they saw their team name - RWBY. "There we are! Looks like we've been assigned to hunt Grimm in the woods, ladies!"

Blake looked to where Yang pointed on the glowing screen, raising a curious eyebrow. "I can see that, but which team are we going to be working alongside for this mission?"

"Lemme seeee…" Ruby peered closer at the screen and saw the name of the team they had been paired with. Much like the team name of RWBY, this team started with the first letters of individuals as 'FYST.' It was a team name that none of them were familiar with, which proved evident as Ruby and Yang tried to figure out how the name sounded.

"How do you say this team name?" Ruby asked while scratching her black hair "Team Feist? Team Fy...Fiiyyyyy...Fooeyysss….."

Yang grunted, trying to figure out what the name of this team could possibly be. Much like Ruby, however, she was equally stumped. "I dunno. It's always different with each team. Team Fillet?"

Weiss and Blake watched as both stepsisters took turns on figuring out what the team name stood for. Neither of them had a clue what the other team's name could be either, and Blake was trying her best not to giggle at the silly words that Ruby and Yang were suggesting.

"Uggggghhhhhh! I give up!" Yang threw up both of her arms in defeat and rubbed her temples. Why couldn't it have been a team that they knew, like Team JNPR?

Ruby wasn't about to give up, however. "Funnchsy? Nonono, that's not a word. Flinsister? Forest? Flashlight? FunkyChunkyStreet?"

"Hey, that's us!"

The new voice came up from right behind Ruby, and it caught her by surprise. She gave a yelp and jumped, her back slamming into the chest of the person who spoke up - apparently another girl. All three of them toppled to the floor, grunting in shock and minor pain while others nearby laughed.

"Owwwww…." Ruby sat up rubbing the back of her head while turning to face the two other people she slammed into. One of them was a young man in a pair of long silver jeans and a long-sleeved,white, T-shirt bearing the insignia of a dragon clutching two battle-axes. Both of his shoulders were protected by a pair of black-iron shoulder guards, and the knees of his long legs were capped with knee pads of the same color. The young huntsman's hair could only be described as a crimson nest that simply refused to give up.

The second was a girl dressed in a blue, long-sleeved T-shirt over which she wore a green tank top. A skirt made of leather straps flowed over her black pants stopping above the knees. Like the young hunter next to her, the huntress wore shoulder guards only hers were lined with serpents that curled together. Her hair, however, was a light brown and neatly combed waterfall tied in in intricate knots with silver beads.

All three of them stumbled a little as they got up, while Yang, Weiss, and Blake rushed up to make sure nobody was hurt. Once they were standing, Ruby and the red-headed huntsman instantly began flooding each other in a wave of apologies, while the brunette huntress rubbed her backside and began to apologize too.

"I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!" Beads of sweat dropped from Ruby's head as she blushed in embarrassment.

The young huntsman took the glasses dangling from his ear and stuttered in equal embarrassment. "N-N-No, I'm sorry! It was me. I spoke too abruptly!" He put on his glasses and blinked, while rubbing his chest with a fingerless glove. The huntress next to him smiled as she brushed her hair back. "It's alright, really."

"Wait a minute," Blake said, "Did you say that you're the team we're paired with?"

"That's right," the redhead replied with a small nod. He straightened up and cracked his knuckles, trying his best to look professional. "I saw that you were having trouble pronouncing our team's name. It stands for 'Fuschite,' like the rock"

Yang glanced over her shoulder at the screen before turning back to the others. "So F-Y-S-T means 'Fuschite,' huh?" She chuckled and turned to the other students. "Well, that certainly had _me_ stumped."

The brunette huntress giggled. "That's alright. To be honest, that happens with us a lot. You'd be surprised at how many times we've had to tell people what our team name really means."

The four of them laughed, except for Weiss and Blake, who were simply watching the whole thing play out. Finally, Blake spoke up after she noticed that only two members of Team FYST were here with them. "So, where's the other members of your team?"

The redhead jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Oh, they're getting refills on coffee. Long night of studying, you know?"

Ruby nodded and sighed. "Oh, trust me, I know how you feel."

There was a round of more chuckling before the redhead said "I'm Fredrik Barboar-Roz, but you can call me Fred for short."

His companion smiled cheerfully as she introduced herself next. "I'm Yrsa Brynhildr."

"I'm Ruby Rose," Ruby said, and these are my faithful compatriots Yang Xiao Long (who's also my big stepsister), Weiss Schnee, and Blake Belladonna."

Weiss raised an eyebrow. "...Faithful Compatriots?"

Yang smiled brightly as she slapped Fred on the shoulder, making him flinch. "Are ya ready to kick the snot out of some Grimm today, buddy?"

Fred rubbed his shoulder and returned the smile. "You bet. It's nice to meet you, Team RWBY." He offered a hand to Ruby, who grinned and returned the handshake.

"It's nice to meet you too!"

* * *

Darkness and madness. The sound of billions upon billions upon _trillions _of screaming voices and rattling metallic thunder is all that I can hear. It echoes and vibrates through my helm and power armour as I lay pinned to the deck. I see the holes in the Thunderhawk above searing with unholy light from the Warp, and I hear countless mouths shrieking as the soup of darkness washes by in seconds.

Through these holes, I see the galaxy bleeding and vomiting in the moments that pass. Stars are born and explode faster than it takes a man to blink an eye. Black voids and windows of raw power stretch across far space and echo across eternity. As the Thunderhawk shakes and creaks without pause, I can feel myself falling with it. World's are forged into existence and crack into clouds of molten fire and rock. Even from the smallest hole bored into the metal of the Thunderhawk, I see everything swallowed up by endless maws of nothingness.

This is the Warp: the dimension that runs parallel to our reality, the accursed domain of the Ruinous Powers. I shut my eyes, closing the Warp's rushing assault on my senses before I am driven mad. I can imagine the Thunderhawk dropping into unending pits of hatred and insanity made real.

Howls of screams and inhuman laughter echo across the deck. This is the end, I am sure of that. At least I was able to save my battle-brother from being swallowed by the collapsing Warp Gate. Even as the roars and screams and metallic tearing grow louder, I clench my gauntlet in a fist of defiance. With a silent prayer, I give thanks to The Emperor and hope to be there by his and Rogal Dorn's side at the end of all things…..

* * *

Dark clouds stretched endlessly across the skies, from the forests all the way to nearby cities. Thick goblets of rain and chunks of hail pattered the continent of Vale, as if the gods themselves were weeping tears of undying sadness. Much of the rainfall was swallowed up by the restless seas, disappearing in crashing waves. Anyone in their right mind was staying inside, for it wasn't simply the weather that made the local population feel uneasy. Grimm were sure to be out and about.

In the skies above the Emerald Forest, a trio of Nevermores swept under the booming clouds, flying in sync with the howling winds. Each of them was a massive airborne Grimm of tremendous size, swollen and mature from decades of existence. The long feathers on their expansive wings looked sharp enough to slice open the grey clouds. Countless drops of rain pattered against their wings, feathers, and bone plates, yet they carved their way across the skies without pause. Streams of clear water dripped from the razor-edged tips of their wings and talons.

The black, avian predators silently continued their passage under the vast blanket of storm clouds. Whenever their great wings flapped, it mimicked the claps of thunder that would occasionally burst across the atmosphere. Like immense vultures looking for scraps of meat, the three Nevermores glided under the sea of clouds above them. Grimm were attracted to negative human emotions, like anger, sadness, and fear, yet the Nevermores weren't lured by the unease seeping from minds below.

Instead, they flocked to something even more tangible in the ocean of heavy storm clouds, like moths drawn to a anyone outside or inside was able to see past the relentless downpour, they would notice something…different in the weather. Occasionally, a rumbling cloud would briefly flash to the color dark purple or midnight black. From these quick flashes of unnatural light, any airborne Grimm was able to sense a burst of pure negative emotion, drawing them in like hungry sharks to a feeding frenzy. Of course, these flashes were temporary, yet the three Nevermores continued to glide and flap under the heavy rain.

One set of clouds turned darker and darker, drawing the Nevermores in by it's swelling taste of negative energy. Suddenly, the entire group of darkening clouds began to expand unnaturally until they literally burst open. The air was torn apart by the shrieking of a million tortured voices. The Nevermores stopped dead in mid-flight, their soulless minds shaken by the weight of hateful emotions roaring at them. Sparks of red and white lightning crackled like open blood veins, turning scores of fat raindrops into sizzling ozone.

From the gaping burst in the clouds, something metallic and scorched with goblets of fire was spat out, crashing into the first Nevermore. The Grimm gave a high-pitched shriek as its entire body was disintegrated to toast. It just so happened that the two remaining Nevermores were in the same path of the flaming metal object.

The second Nevermore gave an ugly squawk as its left wing was scythed off, while the metallic object crunched into its chest. The Nevermore's squawk died as its throat was burned open. Moments after bursting out from the clouds, the flames coating the great object were doused by sheets of rain. Yellow metal revealed itself to the skies of Remnant as it hissed violently.

The third Nevermore, and the largest of the trio, wasn't quick enough to fly away in time. Bone plates snapped as its fellow Grimm and the yellow object of cooling iron slammed into it. The impact was so tremendous that it killed the third Nevermore in seconds.

The roaring burst in the clouds above disappeared, only moments after it had manifested. Both of the dead Nevermores cradled the smoking metal-thing as they fell from the sky and plunged into the woodlands below. Dozens of pine trees burst apart in showers of wet bark and burnt pine needles. Even as the Nevermores slowly disintegrated, they remained intact long enough to cushion the Thunderhawk's crash into the soggy forests.

* * *

"What was that?"

Professor Ozpin, the headmaster of Beacon Academy, got out of his chair and looked out the vast window of his office. He wiped away some of the cold fog with his hand, yet there were too many raindrops on the glass outside.

Ozpin had seen the flash of light go off somewhere in the distance, and he had hoped to get a better glance at whatever it was. He had no luck, for the gushing rain outside his window made everything beyond resemble nothing but a damp blur.

The headmaster of Beacon squinted his eyes in the hope that he could try and pinpoint what had gotten his attention. Sadly, he had no such luck. What was it? ? A fallen cargo ship from Atlas, perhaps? A streak of lightning? Or maybe a flying Grimm struck by lighting? Whatever it was, the object had disappeared too quickly for him to see it clearly.

"Hmmmmmm…." Ozpin furrowed his brow and readjusted his glasses as he tried to make out anything through the seething rain. Of course, it was to no avail.

Sighing, Ozpin turned around and sat back in his chair. He had more important things on his mind. Once this rain storm had passed, his students would be out on missions to exterminate local picked up his coffee mug and went back to reviewing the lists for the day, rubbing his temples. Yet, the burst of light in the sky wouldn't leave his thoughts.

"I wonder…"

* * *

Ruby hummed a tune as her boots splashed in a puddle, and Weiss narrowly dodged the piece of wet earth passing by.

"Will you _please_ stop jumping in every mud puddle we come across?" Weiss asked in irritation. "You're getting yourself, and me, dirtier by the minute."

The Emerald Forest was nearly soaked to the roots; every inch of the ground had been reduced to small islands of moist earth, dotted by tiny lakes of murky water. Droplets of crystal clear water fell from the tips of leaves and pine needles. Pieces of bark and broken twigs littered the forest floor. Rocks and stones wobbled out of place now and then, freed from their sockets of grasping earth. Dead worms could be seen here and there, floating in the pools of muddy water or tangled in the damp patches of grass.

"Come on, Weiss," Yang said. "A little mud won't stop awesome gals like us." Next to her, Blake stepped over whatever rocks and patches of wood she encountered, while Yang promptly stomped her way through any bit of mud they came across.

"And awesome guys too," added Fredrik. Much like Weiss, however, the redhead tried to avoid stepping directly into any mud puddle. His weapon of choice, a broadsword/automatic rifle, lay in both hands. Yrsa, on the other hand, had no problem stepping through the mud. Strapped to her back was a gleaming, double-headed battle axe that would occasionally glint in the dim light.

Beside them, the other two members of Team FYST followed along through the mud and twigs. One of them was another young man like Fredrick, except his hair was a pure, sandy yellow that bristled like a hedgehog. His attire consisted of a grey, long-sleeved shirt and matching pants laced with copper-studded suspenders. In both hands, the young hunter carried a two-handed melee weapon that was a cross between a hammer and a mace. His name was Seamus Knocker, and like Yang, he had an upbeat smile on his face.

The huntress next to him, however, was the complete opposite of his demeanor. Her long, blue hair was tied back in a circular bun, revealing a focused expression. Like the rest of her team, Thea Palas was dressed in modest clothing topped with iron plating. The only difference was her green, sleeveless shirt. Her golden jacket was tied to her waist and draped over her leather pants. In her arms, Thea had her weapon of choice, a pole arm / sniper rifle, primed to shoot any Grimm that revealed itself.

Both teams made their way down the steep hill before them, hopping over slippery boulders and rotting tree trunks. Occasionally, one of them would find themselves tripping over snake-like roots and sliding in the dark mud. The light chirping of morning birds could be heard from the thick canopies and branches above, shrill tweets piercing through the nearby leaves and pine cones. It had already been at least half an hour since they had departed from Beacon Academy into the woods, and yet not a single Grimm had crossed their path. Blake concluded that they would probably encounter the beasts in the deeper parts of the Emerald Forest.

Seamus spoke up, kicking a smooth rock aside with one of his boots. "Awesome gals, awesome guys, and three cups of coffee each," he said with a chuckle, "Let's see the mud try and slow THAT down."

"That doesn't mean that we have to jump in every mud puddle that we come across," Weiss said with a roll of her blue eyes.

Ruby continued to hum as she used her scythe, Crescent Rose, to vault herself over a fallen log riddled with damp moss. "I'm just in high spirits, that's all."

"So am I," Yrsa said with an eager grin. She jumped after Ruby, her battle-axe bumping against her back momentarily as she landed. "What kind of Grimm do you think we'll encounter? Beowulves? Ursa?"

"Probably any of those, if we get lucky," replied Thea, taking a moment to look through the scope of her sniper rifle. She was about to speak when Ruby started humming a tune.

"_Ohhhh, a-hunting, a-hunting, a-hunting we will go,"_

_"And what we'll catch, or what we'll snatch, that's what we do not know…"_

Fredrick gave a smile and joined in the tune, as he was familiar with it also.

"_Be it a Grimm or a grizzly beast, we'll catch the beast and have us a feast,"_

_"Beware, ye there, the claws that bite,_

_the teeth that gnash, and the-..."_

Fredrik paused for a moment, trying to remember what the next lyric in the tune was, but to no avail. "Crap, I always forget the words to that song," he muttered, followed by a low chuckle. Yang, Yrsa, and Seamus added their laughter to his, while Ruby was too busy trying to get back up after slipping in yet another wet globule of mud. Weiss sighed and gave her team leader a hand up.

"I'm beginning to lose track of how many times you've slipped and fallen over," Weiss said in mock exhaustion. Ruby merely growled as she wiped the mud from her leg. "How do you expect to survive a Grimm attack if you hop around in the mud without care?"

Ruby was very tempted to sling some of the mud from her hand into Weiss' hair and argue, but her teammate had a point. It was better for them to keep their guard up rather than let themselves get distracted. Besides, Weiss couldn't cover Ruby's back if she was distracted by a clump of mud all over her face.

Fredrik looked down at the wet earth and gave a look of mild disgust. "You know, there's a good chance that some of this isn't actually mud."

A wide grin split across Seamus' face. "You're right. There's a good chance that some of it could be wet animal droppings."

At that remark, Ruby instantly yelped and flung the mud from her hand, horrified by the implication that it really _could_ be wet animal poop. Some of it got onto Weiss' clothing, making her fume and bark at Ruby's carelessness. While some of the group began cracking up, Thea and Blake merely rolled their eyes.

"There's a chance that a Grimm might attack us at any moment," Blake replied with a sigh, "and yet _this _is the sort of conversation that we need to have?"

Yang wiped a tear from her eye as she finished laughing. "Hey, it's good to keep our spirits up with a chuckle. Besides, there's nothing in these woods that we can't handle."

Ruby finished shaking the mud from her hand (desperately hoping that it wasn't soggy animal scat), yet soon found herself giggling too. On a gloomy day such as this, being in good cheer would be nice for chopping up Grimm.

* * *

_Is it over?._..._Have I finally died, consumed by the madness of the Warp-?_...

I blink my eyes once, then twice, eyelids fluttering like weak eagle wings. Both of my twin hearts pound in my chest, and I can feel my lungs expanding. There is no sound except the icons flickering in my helm. What is this? Am I dead? Has my spirit finally become one with the Emperor of Mankind? Am I at the side of my Primarch, Rogal Dorn? Evidently, it appears that I still live, as a small avalanche of munition crates tumbles onto me, causing my eyes to snap open.

I punch upwards and dig my way out through the crates. As I finally stand up, I take in my surroundings. From what it looks like, the Thunderhawk is somehow intact. The daemonic screams are gone, and the gunship lies still. No rattling, save for tiny creaks of broken metal. My chainsword and bolt pistol are still holstered on my belt. Almost everything is black, save for patches of dim light bleeding through the cracks. The runes on my lens indicate no damage has been sustained to my power armour.

Wasting no time, I make my way across the deck's interior. My Occulobe implant allows me to peer through the darkness of the Thunderhawk, and I find what I am looking for soon enough. I slam a gauntlet onto the button that allows the ramp to open. With a shuddering creak, the ramp growls down from the hull, and I draw my weapons for whatever awaits me outside.

As I jump out from the lowering ramp, the musky smell of ozone and wet earth enters the filters of my helm. Once again, I take in my surroundings, yet it only has me asking more questions. Forests and woodlands jut from the earth, stretching as far as the transhuman eye can see. The sound of birds and insects rattles across the sea of pine and oak. Everything is wet and soggy, and the dismal clouds above indicate that it has rained not long ago. Droplets of crystal-clear water trickle from the tips of leaves and patter on my blood-red helm, exploding into glass beads. The soil is wet and moist, littered with the corpses of dead worms and rich with fungus. Despite the gloom, mild rays of newborn light find their way through the clouds and fog, dimly shining on my yellow power armour.

None of this makes sense. Not a damn bit of it. I should be dead, and my body consumed by the Warp. What is this place? What in the name of Dorn is going on? Reaching up with my gauntlet, I check the vox channel within my helm. "This is Sergeant Kraeton. I repeat, this is Sergeant Kraeton. Brothers, can you hear me? Brothers? Anyone?" Nothing but static. My bewildered mind is already swirling with unanswered questions. I remember the Thunderhawk being lost in the tides of the Warp, and then…?

I turn around and inspect the craft, taking whatever damage it has sustained into account. A great deal of trees have been destroyed, implying that the Thunderhawk must have crashed here into the forest. It is a surprising miracle that the gunship did not explode upon impact. Much of the outer hull is damaged, riddled with gaping holes and badly scorched. The inside of the ship, however, remains intact. I begin inspecting the deck for whatever I can salvage, and trying my damnedest to make sense of all this. Everything only goes back to the same question that leaves my mouth.

"Where in the Emperor's name am I?"

* * *

Fredrik grunted as another bead of rainwater splattered on the lens of his glasses. He was about to wipe them off, only to feel another wet droplet land on his cheek. It trailed down his neck, leaving a glittering trail that made his skin itch. He reached up a hand and wiped at the side of his face, brushing away the bits of water. His attention was drawn, however, to the bristles on his lower neck that remained from his morning shave and he felt bits of red stubble that his razor blade had missed. No matter how much he shaved, there was always a bit of hair that he just couldn't get rid of-.

"You're doing it again."

Fredrik gave a small jolt once he heard Thea's voice, instantly pulling his hand away from his neck and down to his side. He turned to his blue-haired teammate, who merely looked at him with a stern gaze. Fredrik hated it when anyone saw him picking at his face. The red-head turned away, blushing and trying to hide his embarrassment. It didn't work. "Sorry," he replied, and almost repeated his apology.

"Doing _what_ again?" Ruby asked, turning her head towards Thea.

The other members of Team RWBY and Team FYST took notice, and Fredrik immediately wished that he had kept his hood up. "It's nothing," Fredrick muttered.

Seamus raised an eyebrow at his team leader, already aware of what Thea was talking about. "Picking at your shaved hair again, bro?" Fredrik's face turned a darker shade of red, and it was all the proof that the others needed to guess correctly.

Yang merely smirked and patted him on the back, almost making him stumble. "Aw, don't feel bad about it, dude," the blonde huntress said. "Just one of the many things that a guy has to deal with when it comes to growing a manly beard."

"Yeah," Ruby said with a mischievous smirk, "You should see how much Yang picks at her own hair when it isn't trimmed correctly. Ruby's smile vanished however, as her step sister put the black-haired teen in a headlock and give Ruby a wild noogie.

Yrsa smiled comfortingly at Fredrik. "Hey, don't get all upset about it, Fred. Just try not to do it as much." Fredrik nodded, and felt most of his embarrassment vanish at the sound of her kind voice. To be honest, it was always wonderful hearing Yrsa's warm and cheerful voice everyday. It helped bolster his confidence to know that he had friends to support him.

Fredrik already felt the urge to scratch at his neck hairs again, but he reminded himself that Thea was probably getting tired of scolding him for letting himself get distracted. It wasn't simply the tiny bristles of hair that could draw away Fredrick's attention, but many other things. Getting distracted was one of his many flaws, and he constantly had to remind himself (or sometimes, his team members had to remind him) not to lose focus. He knew they were right of course, but that had always been his problem. There was always something in his mind tempting him to forget what he was currently thinking about and get lost in his own thoughts. Thankfully, Fredrik had been improving over the years at maintaining his attention to whatever was important. It was a constant struggle that had yet to be won.

Fredrik pushed these troubled thoughts from his mind (although he feared that they might return) as he and the others followed the Grimm footprints down the hill. They were fresh, from what Thea and Blake could make out. Finally, a chance to refocus his thoughts. Both teams continued their way down the grassy hill, reading each great paw track and letting it guide them to whatever lay ahead. The forest had become awfully silent, and it had begun to unnerve Fredrik. How far in the Emerald Forest were they? Blankets of mists filled the unknown spaces through the trees, and the redheaded hunter wondered if there was a creature of Grimm hiding in the damp shadows.

The bottom of his boots were caked in mud, and Fredrik had to yank himself from the squelching puddles of earth every now and then. He tightened his grip on his autogun, refusing to let his attention falter for even the slightest second. The rest of his team, and the members of Team RWBY, had similar expressions on their faces. Their weapons were primed and ready in case anything dangerous chose to leap out at them with malicious intent. Fredrik wished that Seamus could lighten the mood with one of his clever wisecracks.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the tracks ended near a grotto in the middle of nowhere. A pool of shallow water lay in the center, yet it wasn't large enough to reach a hunter's ankle. Both teams spread out into the grotto to find any clues to where the tracks led. Fredrik sighed as he bent his long legs, tired of walking around for so long. He reached down to adjust his boots when something caught his attention, and he was glad that his focus was in the right place. The others had noticed it too: everything in the forest had gone utterly silent. Not a bird or an insect made so much as a chirp, as if something had scared every living creature into hiding. There was only the dripping of water from plants and the hush of leaves brushing against wet bark.

All of a sudden, Fredrik could have sworn that Blake's bowtie twitched with anticipation, as he and the others heard the slow rustling of damp twigs destroy the silence. He could feel the hairs on his body, trimmed and untrimmed, standing out on all ends as he and the others turned their heads to the sound of...paws.

There, at the edge of the grotto, standing on its hind legs and making its way out of the underbrush and daubed in mud, was a Beowulf. It's pitch-black fur stood out against the green and brown of the trees, as if it were a shadow bleeding from the darkness within the bowels of the forest. Thick bone plates and spikes of pure white protruded from its arms, legs, and knees. The Grimms wolf-like features were hidden under a vicious skull-mask, as if it were a servant of Death itself. On each paw was a set of claws of bone, digging into the wet patches of earth underneath. Its eyes glowed a boiling red, illuminating the fog with a hellish glow. The creature of Grimm opened its snout, exposing rows of pale teeth from which a low growl arose.

Snarling, the Beowulf lunged out from the bracken in a shower of leaves and rainwater. Blake was the first to react, drawing her signature weapon Gambol Shroud from her belt. She unraveled the ribbon on her weapon's gun grip, just as the Beowulf came within range. The gun-blade on the far end of the ribbon collided into the lunging creature's neck, giving Blake the chance to drag the Grimm from the air and slam it to the earth. As the entangled Beowulf tumbled into the mud, Blake drew her weapon and finished off the canine monstrosity with a quick slash to the throat.

Just as Blake had executed the Beowulf, another of its brethren came loping down from one of the grotto's upper ledges. As it's claws scraped on the nearest boulder, Thea had already targeted the Grimm in her rifle's scope. Wasting no time, the blue-haired teen pulled her weapon's trigger and sent a dust-round into its face, which passed out through the back of it's head. It's left eye was shattered, and the Grimm tumbled headfirst into the wet soil. It was dead long before it hit the ground.

The misty air suddenly began to fill with lupine howls, followed by the rushing sound of paws across the damp forest floor. Thea loaded another bullet into her rifle and turned to the others. "Well, we came looking for Grimm. Looks like they found us first."

"YEAH!" Yang already had her gauntlets raised, eager to pummel Grimm. The members of Team RWBY and Team FYST brought their weapons up as dozens of Beowulves charged out from the gloomy mist, snarling and howling as they made their way down into the grotto. The cold air was torn apart by rounds of dust leaving their barrels and punching into howling targets. Many of the creatures instantly fell dead as their black bodies were ripped apart by shots of dust. Bone plates cracked and shattered, while Grimm heads and necks shuddered violently from the impact. Pieces of bark from nearby trees flew everywhere, along with dissolving chunks of Beowulf. Some bullet rounds blasted through monstrous paws and hairy limbs, making the werewolf-like Beowulves topple over into each other.

Seamus thummbed the button on his mattock, switching the weapon into its ranged each pull of the trigger, Seamus launched dust-filled projectiles into nearby Grimm, leaving colorful smoke trails. Each explosive shell that landed true blew open a snarling Beowulf and left a gaping hole in any unfortunate Grimm next to it. Thea and Ruby took turns sniping down incoming targets, killing one Beowulf after the next in its tracks. Soon enough, however, more packs of the Grimm began to pour out from the shadows and into the grotto, eager to rip the hunters and huntresses to bloody shreds.

The other members of the teams soon noticed that Grimm were starting to leap down behind them. In moments, the fighting in the grotto shifted from ranged attacks to close-quarters combat. Yang grinned as she began to deliver quick punches with Ember Celia, smashing hairy snouts and maws open. Like a bull, she began clobbering her way through the nearest Beowulf with her metallic gauntlets and knocking another aside with dust-rounds. Ruby followed in suit, raising Crescent Rose and burying the tip of her scythe into the neck of an enormous Beowulf. The monster's head instantly flew from its shoulders, while it's twitching corpse fell to the side. Blake dodged many vicious clawed-swipes, while using Gambol Shroud's rectangular sheathe to cut thick fragments of black fur and bone like a meat cleaver. Next to her, Weiss plunged the metallic tip of her rapier, Myrtenaster, through two Beowulves at once. She drew her weapon in enough time to carve open the belly of a third Grimm without even breaking a sweat.

Fredrik's heart was beating loudly as he aimed his autogun at a charging Beowulf, while Yrsa unsheathed her battle axe and decapitated another howling Grimm nearby. He felt a moment of hesitation, almost tempted to lose the grip on his weapon and let his focus drop. Thankfully, he managed to regain his nerve long enough to pull the trigger and blast the Beowulf open. The creature's furry chest snapped open in a burst of red fire, followed by a second round that tore it's head into goblets of dark ruin. The redhead took aim and fired again, popping one Beowulf's arm off and hammering another off its feet .

Fredrik didn't have time to reload, as another Grimm was closing in on him. Spinning on his heels, he knocked the Beowulf aside using the butt of his autogun. As the monster flopped into a puddle of dirty water, he clicked the button that turned his autogun into a gleaming broadsword. He thrust the steel blade into the Grimm's chest, pushing harder until his sword was buried to the hilt. The Beowulf jerked in violent protest, leading Fredrik to draw his sword out and behead the wolfish creature. At it's head rolled in the mud, he was already up on his feet to clash with another Grimm. The Beowulf swung at him, scratching at Fredrik's armour plating with ravenous bone claws. That, of course, left the Grimm's side exposed, and he hacked off both of the monster's legs.

He shoved the crippled wolf-beast aside and looked up to see how his teammates were faring. Seamus had turned off the grenade launcher form on his weapon and switched it back to a mattock, swinging it over his head and caving in a Beowulf's head. Much like Yang, he was smiling and having the time of his life.

Yrsa was laying into multiple Beowulves with her battle-axe, her cheerful attitude was utterly gone, replaced with the demeanor of a ferocious warrior. As she lopped off heads and limbs, Yrsa's braids swayed back and forth across her shoulders.

Next to her, Thea had decided to quit sniping targets and join the melee. Much like everyone else, she had switched her rifle into a close-combat weapon, which was a long spear of shining bronze. Using both hands, Thea twirled the spear from one hand to the next as she ducked brutal swipes and lunged in for the kill. More than once, the sharp tip of her spear tripped one Grimm while severing the paw from another.

Fredrik felt his confidence swell at the sight of his team dispatching the Beowulves, and any sense of panic or hesitation he had felt vanished. Now, all the redhead could feel was the rush of adrenaline and the yearning to cut down the Grimm. He clutched his broadsword in a two-handed grip and barreled his way towards the nearest Beowulf. "COME ON!" he shouted, tightening his grip and remembering his training. The wolf-Grimm bounded towards him in return, teeth bared and claws slicing the air.

Once he was close enough to make a blow, Fredrik swung downward and cut into the Beowulf's shoulder. Bone and black hair came undone as his broadsword tore through the Grimm's lower torso in a flash of steel. The inside of the Beowulf was a deep, crimson well of red that shined deeply against the grey of the sky above. Frederick turned around and faced another rampaging beast, using his heavy broadsword to deal a mortal blow across it's spiny back plate. Like it's fallen brethren, the Grimm fell to the earth in a twitching mess.

Suddenly, Fredrik's entire body went tumbling back into the ground as a Beowulf tackled him from the side. Everything shook all over as the Grimm pinned him down in the mud, claws digging into his clothes and pricking his flesh. His broadsword has been knocked out of his hands, which he was trying to use to shove the Beowulf off of him. Fredrik managed to grip some of the bones along the Grimm's neck, and it barely kept the monster from biting into him. The wolf-creature looked down at him, snarling angrily and trying to snap off his face. He used all his focus to try and keep the Beowulf away, but the Grimm's bone plate was wet, and his fingers were slipping. All he could see were the beast's glowing, blood-red eyes and its gaping maw.

There was a sound of metal passing through fur and bone, and the blade of a spear punched through the neck of the Beowulf. Fredrik's eyes widened as the tip sliced into the Grimm's neck, only a few inches away from his nose. Once the Beowulf finally stopped moving, Fredrik saw Thea lean in while still grasping the haft of her spear. She rolled her eyes and pulled out her weapon, using the butt of the spear to push the dissolving Beowulf off her team leader. Fredrik sighed in desperate relief. "Thanks," he gasped quickly.

"You owe me one," Thea said as she helped Fredrik out of the mud. He nodded and quickly picked up his broadsword nearby, shaking bits of mud away to reveal it's shining edge.

"I'll remember that," he replied with a nod, and Thea gave a tiny ghost of a smile as she brought her spear around and impaled another Beowulf through the stomach. Grinning, Fredrik raised his sword and got back into the fight.

* * *

I have finished oiling and cleaning my chainsword, when I catch bits of noise erupting miles away. My helm turns left as I hear the shots ring through the trees. Birds squawk and take to the skies, shedding feathers and raindrops. Gunfire. No, not simply gunfire. I hear the familiar clash of blades hacking into flesh, followed by howls and bestial shrieks. The sound echoes under the eaves of the trees, becoming louder with each passing second.

I leap out of the Thunderhawk and turn my attention to the noise of what may be a battle. From the direction of the birds' flight, it seems that there is a skirmish going on further down below in the woods. There is something else I hear in the fight going on nearby: shouts and voices. Human voices.

Already, a different number of options comes to mind. Should I go and investigate what this battle is and make contact? That does seem like the best option, but doing so would leave the Thunderhawk exposed. And could these voices really belong to humans, or simply another one of the Emperor's many foes? If I do not seek out who is fighting down below, however, I may never be able to learn where I am.

Finally, I draw my bolt pistol and chainsword, deciding that investigation is the best option. Whispering a prayer to The Emperor and Dorn, I begin making my way down the hillside.

* * *

"HAAAAAAAAA-UHH!"

Ruby gave a battle-cry as she brought Crescent Rose downward once again, burying the razor-sharp blade of her scythe into her 16th kill of the morning. The heels of her boots dug into the mud as she raised her scythe again, swinging it in a deadly arc at the Beowulves rushing towards her.

One of the lupine creatures found it's head flying out of sight and disappearing in the gloom, while another Beowulf was carved in half from top to bottom. The rest of the nearby Grimm were sent flying into nearby tree trunks. Next to Ruby, Yrsa severed an arm from a Beowulf that was lunging towards Ruby, and Ruby cleaved open the spine of another Beowulf that leapt out at Yrsa.

"Oh yeah!" Ruby said as she blew open a Beowulf's head with another dust-round. This was SO much better than turning her brain to mush while taking a stupid test! That was when she realized, however, that she had spent all of her ammunition. The larger Beowulves had required more bullets to take down. As it turned out, that was only one of the problems that Team RWBY and Team FYST faced.

The hunters were slowly becoming the hunted. The grotto was littered with dozens of slain Grimm, each corpse slowly dissolving into wisps of smoke. Yet, for every Grimm they killed, two more would take its place. Soon, both of the teams found themselves being pushed into a circle towards the middle of the grotto.

Weiss stabbed out and drove Myrtenaster through the side of a Beowulf's head, and Yang swung her gauntlets out to bash another Grimm's head into pulp. "There's more coming!" Weiss shouted out, tearing a red gash along a Beowulf's chest.

"No Kidding!" Fredrik said as he sheared a Grimm's scalp clean off with his broadsword, while Yrsa chopped into an Alpha Beowulf's skull face. "What do we do?"

Blake tore open the throat of the Beowulf she was grappling with, before turning around and putting a dust-round through a canine head. "Keep fighting! Don't let up!" Thea nodded in agreement and skewered a Grimm through its hide before flinging it away.

Yang grinned and dashed a Beowulf's head in with both fists, turning its head into a mess of fur and broken bone fragments. "My kinda plan!" Seamus grinned too, laughing as the head of his mattock knocked fangs and teeth from a snarling jaw.

Fresh Beowulves started to pour into the grotto; a whole pack, it seemed. They slowly made their way towards both teams, tearing out chunks of earth with their white claws. The fight was far from over, that was for sure, but Team RWBY and Team FYST weren't about to give up so quickly. Ruby and Fredrik glanced at each other and nodded before turning to the others, telling them to get ready to charge.

"Alrighty, everybody," Ruby said, holding Crescent Rose eagerly, "Get ready to atta-.."

_**CHUDOOM! CHUDOOM! CHUDOOM!**_

There was a great, piercing scream, like an eruption. No, not like an eruption. It was a sound like an overheated cannon mixed with the thunder of roaring lighting. The ears of each hunter and huntress were ringing from the mere wave of force that it gave off. It echoed throughout the grotto and the nearby trees, sending thousands of watery beads showering down. At the same time, without warning, the Beowulves at the rear of the pack simply erupted. Their hairy bodies exploded into chunks of black fur and bone with a force that none of the hunters had ever witnessed before, torn utterly apart as if an angry god had struck them out of nowhere. Their brethren were sent reeling and falling over from the sheer force of the unknown source of death, yelping and growling as they scrambled in the mud.

Both teams jumped back, almost dropping their weapons in shock. Yang's head spun left and right, eyes wide in confusion. "Wha-?! What the HELL was THAT?!"

Suddenly, as the echoes of the titanic explosion began to fade, there was a sound of heavy feet stomping on wet earth. Then, out from the mists on a ledge above the grotto, a towering figure in yellow burst out from the fog, and it was then that both human and Grimm saw the Angel descend.

* * *

**WHEW! That's finally done! So, that's Chapter 2 in "Fist of Remnant." Kraeton's in Remnant now, and he has A LOT of questions that remain unanswered. In the next chapter, our Imperial Fist sergeant will kick some Grimm ass and make first contact with Team RWBY and Team FYST. What will happen then? This chapter was so much fun to write(especially the action scenes), and I plan on going into depth about my OC's semblances and weapon names later on in the story. **

**One interesting fact that I would like to add is that Kraeton has a Northern British (Yorkshire) accent. Don't get me wrong, I love how Space Marines have upper class British accents (Games Workshop and Warhammer 40,000 was made in Great Britain, after all), but that's something people have already heard. Since the Imperial Fists recruit from hundreds of worlds, it would make sense for Kraeton to speak High Gothic and yet keep his homeword's accent too. Besides, his accent wouldn't be one of those goofy types of Northern British, but one that's proud and stubborn in its roots. Good old British dialects. **

**Feel free to review and give constructive help!**

**See you soon! The Emperor Protects!**


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